Partner
by SheFoundHerself
Summary: "He watches her from where he stands, rooted to the spot. She looks around the full room, scanning the space with her dark eyes until her gaze catches his own. He grins at her against the rim of his punch glass..." One-shot. Set Season One, post episode 10 - Closure: Part 1. Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except my love for these two.


To say that he isn't a people-person would be an understatement.

He is the first to admit it and that is why he is surprised to find himself here tonight, people-watching in a banquet room full of brass, ready to celebrate a milestone in his commanding officer's service.

He checks his watch one more time and if he couldn't see the tiny second-hand ticking away, he would think it had stopped.

The last few hours have been a blur.

At Olivia's insistence, he'd left her with his half of the paperwork, so that he could make it home to Queens just after four. He had changed from his blue dress shirt and khakis, to white dress shirt, black suit, and red tie which expertly hides the spot of marinara sauce he spilled from the hurried dinner his wife had left waiting for him on the stove. He had arrived at Kathleen's school play just in time to watch his daughter dance across the stage for her big entrance as _pirate girl number three_ in Peter Pan.

_"I'm surprised you made such good time,_" Kathy had whispered in amazement as he slipped into the empty seat beside Maureen in the last row of the auditorium. He had pressed a kiss to the top of his eldest daughter's head and intercepted a sleeping Elizabeth from Kathy's arms so that his wife could video tape the performance. His youngest daughter had drooled on his suit jacket in her sleep and he had taken his son to the bathroom three times over the course of the second act. He wasn't able to get much out of the play, but he has read so many of the familiar fairy-tales to his children so many times that he can recite most of them by heart.

How he had managed to congratulate Kathleen, help Kathy pack their entire family into the van, and make it back into the city in time for Cragen's ceremony is nothing short of the work a fairy godmother.

_Olivia._

He grins at the thought of what she would say if he told her that. His partner looks absolutely nothing like the little white-haired old lady in the sparkly dress who shows up to grant wishes. Still, her demand that he go is the only reason he made it home tonight to see his daughter in her play. She is also the only reason he would have easily forgone the theatrical event and sat across from her for the last few hours working silently, if she had asked him to stay.

He has gone through his share of partners over the years. Cragen has told him more times than he can count that he treads on thin ice, but this time is different. _Olivia_ is different.

When Kathy had asked him the other night whether Olivia would be attending this function, he had replied with the three simple words that he now uses at home more often than he would like.

_"She's my partner."_

He realizes that in saying that he has simultaneously given his wife all the information in the world and told her absolutely nothing at all.

Olivia is his partner and she is a damned good one. She is feisty and headstrong and funnier than she knows. She is still green, but she is learning everyday. He respects the hell out of her and he wants to keep her around for as long as he can. She has been good for him, better than he deserves. He thinks she may even be his best friend. She surprises him and in turn he surprises himself. He thinks she just might be making him into a people-person or maybe he is just becoming a _certain people-person._

No matter how many times he has thought it over, tried to define it, pin-point it... from the moment he met her there was something magnetic about Olivia. It's a feeling he has never experienced before, regardless of who's back he has been responsible for watching. Being beside her is like puzzle pieces snapping together after searching through the box over and over to find the right match. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was the fairy tales going to his head, but working beside her, sometimes he swears that together they are nothing short of magic.

He had called her exactly eleven minutes ago, while on his way up in the elevator.

"You're awful at spelling, do you know that?" She had asked before he could speak and then he was laughing.  
"I know. That's why you're here," he teased her lightly.  
"Oh, is that right?" She tossed back with a laugh.  
He had shaken his head before he realized that she couldn't see him. "No."

There are a million and one reasons why she is here and he had wanted to pick one and elaborate, but her hum of amusement in his ear made him forget his own name.

"Tell me you're still coming, Bonnie," he had joked, unable to keep the slight edge of desperation out of his tone that he knew she would find amusing.

Her laughter had been full then. "I'm still coming. I'm in the cab, Clyde."

She keeps up. Step for step.

He catches Monique Jeffries' eye as she makes her way toward him from across the room, followed closely by Munch. Monique's caramel curls are swept up in a bun and the long emerald green cocktail dress she wears is a daring anomaly in the sea of black and white. Elliot grins at her and he watches as she stops halfway in her journey and pauses to take a glass of champagne from a waiter. _"You want one?"_ She mouths, motioning to her glass.

Elliot shakes his head, raising his cup of punch. He would have a drink if he could.

Monique is dazzling and as the undisputed center of attention, she has captured the gaze of every man in the room.

"Hey!" She greets him easily as she moves close enough to touch his arm. "You made it. Did you get to see your daughter?"  
Elliot nods. "Thanks to Olivia."  
Monique smiles knowingly, "Benson's on her way." She assures him of what he already knows, but he appreciates all the same.

There is a band set up in the far corner of the room and the lead singer has begun crooning the classics: Fitzgerald, Sinatra, and Nat King Cole.  
Monique sways slightly to the music before she nods toward the dance floor. "What do you think, Elliot?" She poses the question lightly and with a smile as though she already knows the answer.

He holds up his hands in mock defense as he grins at her. "I don't dance."

"Never took you for a wallflower, Stabler," John calls from across the table. Elliot looks up at the sound of his name and gives half of a grin.  
"What do you take me for, John?" He retorts amiably, settling deeper into his stance and resting his forearms against the surface of the high table.

"The life of the party?" John teases and Monique rolls her eyes.

"Well, we know _you're_ certainly not the life of the party, John," she quips, taking a sip of her champagne before setting the glass down onto the table.  
"More like the death of it," she finishes in a hushed tone so that only Elliot can hear.

He chuckles and shakes his head. He thinks listening to their bickering is reminding him why he avoids these kinds of events in the first place.

He checks his watch once more and Monique moves away to greet a friend, leaving room for John to take her place. Elliot feels John's hand clap his shoulder through his suit jacket.

"I'm with you, Elliot. I don't like these things any more than you do. A bunch of bureaucratic members of the brass who show up and shower our captain with praise when they haven't worked with him a day in their lives. They should ask us to do the award presentation. We're the ones who spend every single day with the man. We know him best."

Elliot nods because he has known Munch long enough to know that is what the older man is looking for. "Where is our esteemed leader anyway?"

"I haven't seen him," Elliot answers, shaking his head as he watches the condensation form on the table from Monique's half-full glass of champagne.

"Poor bastard." He hears John mutter before he glances over at him.

"Who?" Elliot asks with a laugh. "Cragen? C'mon John, this isn't that bad."

John shakes his head before he nods across the room toward the entrance where a multitude of people are milling about. "Cassidy," he answers.

"What's the matter with him?" Elliot asks, bewildered.

"Your partner's here," John says simply, emphasizing each word.

Elliot looks up and he finds her. It isn't difficult to do. He thinks that even in a crowd of thousands he would still be able to find her. _Olivia._ She's here.

Her hair is pinned back from her face and secured by some tiny sparkly pins that glitter in her dark locks. She wears a deep midnight blue cocktail dress that falls to just below her knees. It isn't fancy, but on his partner it might as well be a ballgown. She is stunning.  
Poised at the top of the short flight of stairs, she looks like Cinderella or better yet, dark brunette Belle. Although if she is the heroine of that particular Disney story, then that makes him the Beast and he isn't sure how he feels about that comparison at the moment.

He watches her from where he stands, rooted to the spot. She looks around the full room, scanning the space with her dark eyes until her gaze catches his own. He grins at her against the rim of his punch glass as he feels the now familiar somersault that his stomach has taken to performing every time she smiles like this...like they have shared a secret and maybe they have.

He isn't sure what it is just yet, but he prays that he's got enough time with her to find out.

He watches her pick her way down the stairs until she meets Monique on the floor.

"Thanks for coming, Elliot." His commanding officer's voice pulls him from his reverie as he turns to shake Cragen's hand. Don is wearing his dress blues and a mildly uncomfortable expression that Elliot knows is due to his captain's dislike of being the center of attention.

"I wouldn't miss it, Capt. Congratulations," he says earnestly.

Don smiles as he surveys the room. "Where's your girl tonight?" He asks genially.

"She's-" Elliot starts, turning without hesitation toward where he last saw Olivia, before he realizes.

Don is asking about his wife.

"My daughter. She's having a slumber party tonight," he explains Kathy's absence quickly, praying his captain missed the moment that just passed between them. He isn't sure he would be able to explain it even if he tried. If Cragen saw, he doesn't show it. The older man smiles and reaches forward to shake Elliot's hand one more time.

"Guess we have to go mingle now," he says with a resigned shake of his head. "Remind me not to agree to this next year, all right?"

"Sure Capt," Elliot answers as he watches Cragen greet a group of officers from another precinct.

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and he presses his palms down against the grain of the table for a moment, grounding himself before he looks up again.

His eyes find her easily.

Olivia stands at a crowded table some twenty feet before him.

Monique to her left, Munch to her right, and Brian leaning across the table, vying for the next closest position. There are a few other male officers he recognizes from neighboring precincts and from where he stands he can tell that they haven't situated themselves at that table to talk to Munch. It's not that he blames them, but she is his partner and it's his job to protect her, to watch her back.

At least that's how he justifies it...

They are all talking, chatting amiably, but if there is one thing he has learned about Olivia in the time they have been together, it is that she is an open book. She wears her emotions plainly on her sleeve and he reads them like his favorite novel.

Now, he watches as Cassidy tries to engage her in conversation and Olivia's expression turns guarded. The way she bites at her lip, the tilt of her head, and furrow of her brow all tell him that she is uncomfortable.

He has waited long enough.

He pushes himself away from his table and maneuvers through the crowd as the lights dim ever so slightly. He isn't sure what he is going to do when he reaches her side, but he is sure as hell going to get her out of there if she isn't at ease. He moves closer to the table until he stands right behind her. He sees the tense way that she is holding herself, the rigid line of her spine.

Munch is going on about aliens and Monique has moved from Olivia's side and begun flirting with one of the male officers. Elliot makes a mental note never to leave Olivia's welfare in her hands again, just before he watches Brian start to sidle up and talk to her one last time.

Elliot makes his move then. He steps directly between them and presses his palm to the small of her back, right above the sash of her dress, as he leans in close to her. "D'you wanna dance?" He whispers automatically, his voice low in her ear. He'll do anything to make her more comfortable.

Olivia turns her head quickly as though she hadn't realized it was him beside her and her lips graze his jaw.

His stomach somersaults again at her touch and _he tries not to think that might be the closest he will ever come to kissing her._

"Elliot," she breathes his name, pressing her hand to his arm to steady herself. "Yes please," she whispers.

Her dark eyes are alight the gentlest sense of relief at his offer and he could kick himself for not coming to her side from the very first moment that she arrived. Something has shaken her and he intends to find out what.  
He offers her his hand and when he feels her fingers in his own, he understands why he has never reached for her before.

"Are you sure we're allowed to do this?" Olivia asks as he leads her through the crowd toward the wood of the empty dance floor.

"Sure I'm sure," he replies with a grin and a confidence that he doesn't quite feel. He catches the way she smirks up at him that tells him she knows that he isn't certain about anything right now, except that he is with her.

He clings to her hand as he turns around to look at her.

She stops before him, gazing up at him through her perfect sooty lashes, and she smiles. For a moment, he swears that time stands still and races forward all at once. He doesn't know who they'll be tomorrow, or in a year, or in ten. But tonight...

The band is playing an instrumental version of _Strangers in the Night_ and Olivia sighs at the sound. "I love this song," she tells him, stepping in toward him as he reaches for her slender waist.

"It's a good one," he agrees. Olivia ducks her head for a moment and Elliot watches the faintest blush color her cheeks before she looks back up at him.

"Thank you," she says softly.

"For what?" He asks, watching her closely.

Olivia draws her bottom lip into her mouth and tilts her head back toward the table that he just helped her to vacate.

"For getting me out of there," she whispers earnestly, making him laugh.

Elliot shakes his head. "I told you, I'm your partner."

Olivia's dark eyes sparkle when she meets his gaze once more and he knows he is in for something good.

"My dance partner?" She inquires with a smile.

"When the situation calls for it," he tells her, feigning seriousness. Olivia laughs and the sounds glitters like champagne bubbles.

"You all right?" He asks her, nodding toward the table once more. He can't help the protective edge that his voice takes on. Olivia's nod comes too quickly to be entirely convincing.

"Olivia," he rumbles her name, the syllables tumbling from his lips.

She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine. It's just- like I said before. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have..."

"He's got no right to make you feel uncomfortable. You want me to talk to him?" He clenches his jaw at the thought and his hold must tighten on her waist because she responds immediately, pressing her palm to his chest.

"No Elliot," she warns. The expression that crosses her beautiful features is stern and he knows that she understands that the brand of talking he is referring to will inevitably include a dose of intimidation, when it comes to her.

He exhales under the touch of her hand, but he catches the slightest twitch of her lips out of the corner of his eye. He shakes his head because she doesn't need him to fight her battles, but she also knows that all she has to do is ask.

"You gotta stop worrying 'bout this, okay?" He tells her, keeping his voice low. He doesn't want her to spend another minute dwelling on this, on _Cassidy.  
_ "I told you, it _happens."_

Olivia ducks her head and watches their feet for a moment. When she looks back up at him, he sees something vulnerable playing out within her dark eyes. "Did it ever happen to you?" She asks on a hushed breath as though she needs reassurance that this will pass.

For an split second, he can't breathe. She has asked the million dollar question and he can't lie to Olivia. He can't. She's his partner. He is a devout cradle Catholic and in this moment, she is his confessor.  
He can't lie to her and tell her that it has never crossed his mind, that he has never wondered, that he has never had feelings for _someone_ other than the woman he is married to. He wonders if he would be so honest with Kathy.

Olivia gives a mortified gasp when she seems to realize that she has given voice to her question. She lets go of his hand.

"Oh my God, Elliot. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have...please just forget that I-" She whispers all of this very quickly before she twists just slightly as though she is trying to extricate herself from his grasp, but he holds on to her. He catches her wrist in his hand.

"Olivia," He rasps her name, shushing her with the sound and she looks up at him with those wide doe eyes.  
He swallows hard before he speaks. "I love my wife," he tells her simply and that is all he can give. That is all he can say that won't be a lie because he does. He _does_ love Kathy...

Olivia nods, her expression serious. "I know you do," she says with all the conviction in the world. "That's why I sent you home. I don't want you to miss anything."

He doesn't tell her that when he is at home, he wonders about what he is missing out on by leaving her behind.

Elliot gives her half of a grin and that familiar unspoken understanding seems to pass between them once again as the music changes and the singer starts to croon...

_**Someday, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight.**_

"Thank you for talking me into going for Kathleen tonight."

Olivia smiles and the lightness returns to her eyes. He knows she loves to hear about his children. Sometimes he thinks that she is even more invested in their activities than he is.

"How was the play?" She asks, pressing her palm against his shoulder.  
He takes a breath and nods. "Good. Kathleen did good. I don't know a whole lot 'bout dancing, but she seemed happy. That's all that matters."

"Could have fooled me, Stabler," Olivia teases lightly, glancing down at their moving feet. He twirls her away from him in response and Olivia laughs as she spins, while clinging to his hand.

When he brings her back into him, she steps closer, closer than before.

He holds her now. He has never held her before, but he has discovered what he thought he knew all along: Olivia fits. She fits against him.  
From the delicate dip of her waist, to the slightest brush of her breasts against his chest, to the feeling of her exhale against his neck. She fits in his arms and now that he knows, he isn't certain which is more difficult to swallow: the curiosity or the reality of her.

_**Yes, you're lovely with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me, but to love you and the way you look tonight.**_

Olivia is quiet for a moment and her silence gives him the chance to watch her, to take her in. There are exactly four shimmery pins in her hair, a hint of mascara on her dark lashes, and a tint of color on her lips. She doesn't need make-up. Olivia's looks are enough to stop any man dead in his tracks, but Elliot knows her appearance isn't even a fraction of what makes her so alluring.

She catches him staring and she gives him a playfully exasperated look which he returns in earnest.

_**With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fears apart and that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart.**_

He glances up over the top of her head to scan the space and he is greeted with the collective gazes of nearly every man in the room who wants a chance with Olivia and once again he is possessive of her, without any right.

He has no claim to stake, no business keeping to her to himself...he has to give her the choice.

**_Lovely, never ever change. Keep that breathless charm, won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._**

He swallows at the thought of letting her go.

"Listen," he whispers conspiratorially and Olivia leans closer. "There are guys lining up 'round the block to dance with you and I can't monopolize you all night."

Olivia dark eyes grow wide. "Please monopolize me," she begs quietly; her voice half-amused, half-pleading. She makes him laugh at the same time that she makes him feel like he is falling because she is _asking_ him to claim her for tonight, to keep her.

For her own sake. For his.

_**And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart.**_

He feels her chin bump his shoulder and he glances up once more. There are other couples making their way onto the dance floor and a few notably stag gentlemen who hesitate on the edge of the floor. Elliot wonders if there is some truth to the age old adage that if looks could kill...

He shakes his head and grins down at her as she looks up at him curiously. "What's wrong?" She asks, drawing her full bottom lip into her mouth to keep herself from smiling.

"Nothing," he assures her. He can't tell her that the only crime she has committed is being too bewitching for her own good, without even trying. He catches John's eye and Munch is obviously immune to his glare because he starts to move across the room toward them.

_**Lovely, don't you ever change. Keep that breathless charm, won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight.**_

"Livia," he drawls out her name and when she tilts her head, he brushes her forehead with his mouth before she meets his eyes. "If I forget to tell you later, you look beauti-"

"Hey Rogers and Astaire, who's catching tonight?" John calls.

Olivia laughs lightly. "We are!" she cries, raising her hand that isn't clinging to Elliot's. He doesn't miss the way she nearly sinks into him with relief. He knows she is ready to leave because he is, too. He is ready to leave the bustle of the crowd behind for the quiet and the darkness of his seat right beside her in the sedan.

"Let's get outta here," he whispers. She nods as though she can hardly believe her luck, before he feels the gentlest squeeze of her hand.

She lets him go. He lets her lead.

Monique catches his eye and she taps his shoulder lightly as they edge past her and her companion on the dance floor. "Not bad for a man who doesn't dance," she quips quietly with an amused raise of her brows.

Elliot shrugs affably, "See you tomorrow."

He loses sight of Olivia momentarily as he searches his pockets for the keys to the sedan.

When she appears at his side him again, she is inches shorter with her pumps in hand, a black shawl draped over her arm, and sneakers on her feet.  
He gives her a once-over because she gives him permission with the laugh that bubbles from her lips. He loves her, he does...the practicality of this woman. "Good thinkin'," he comments and Olivia nods in agreement.

"Can never be too prepared."

She fiddles with her shawl and he wordlessly takes her shoes from her as he helps her to drape the soft material over her slight shoulders.

"You good to go?" Olivia asks. Her eyes are bright and she is smiling just a tad too much to be going back to work, but she makes him smile and she makes him laugh and she is just as eager as he is to get the hell out of here. She takes her shoes back from him, her fingers tangle with his in the exchange as he follows her toward the exit.

He catches Cragen's eye and their captain holds up a hand from where he stands. "I want you two home by midnight, you hear me?"

Olivia pauses at the top of the short flight of stairs and when she glances over her shoulder at him, Elliot knows that her thoughts mirror his own. They all know that they can't make those kinds of promises because the job isn't a fairy tale. Midnight isn't when the spell breaks and everything goes back to how it was before. There is nothing idyllic about what is about to come, what they are about to see.

Elliot nods, saluting their captain in acknowledgement that he will try his best. "Got it, Capt," Olivia calls with a wave.

She glances over her shoulder at him once more, as if to make sure that he is still there. He brushes her arm reassuringly as he follows her up, stopping once more at the sound of his name.

"Lose the smirk, Stabler!" Munch calls and Elliot shakes his head as he discretely flips John the bird. He hears Olivia's laughter and he knows that she hasn't missed what has just transpired.

He turns to look at her and she waiting, waiting for him.

Her dark eyes are expectant and she smiles ever so slightly and for a moment he forgets. He forgets that they are at work. He forgets they have a case. He falls into step beside her, stands close behind her in the crowded elevator, and for a few precious seconds no one has to know. No one has to know that they have been called in and he can pretend. He knows there is an inherent danger to it, _pretending,_ but tonight...For one moment, he is the lucky one who gets to leave with the most beautiful girl at the ball.

They move together across the parking lot, their footfalls in sync, faster and faster until..."Race you!"

He can't possibly win because he is laughing too hard.

_She's something,_ he thinks. Olivia beats him to the car, but he has the keys.

He is a stubborn son of a gun and he won't unlock the doors until she lets him open the passenger side for her. Ordinarily, he leaves her to her own devices, but tonight they are dressed up and hell if he is gonna let it look like he neglected to open the door for his date.

When he settles into the driver's seat across from her, Olivia rests her head against the back of the seat and they give a collective sigh.

"Thank God that's over," he breathes into the silence and he makes her laugh.

She shakes her head, her dark hair mussing against the head rest. Her brown eyes are a mixture of seriousness and amusement when she speaks again.  
"I'm absolutely going to hell for this," she says, emphasizing her point with her hands, "But I've never been so happy to be called in."

He chuckles in agreement without telling her that if she is damned to hell for that thought alone, then he will meet her there for far worse.

* * *

The scene is a mess. The dark alley way on the wrong side of the tracks is as stark a contrast as possible to the lavishness of the party they have just left. It will take time to ID the victim. The witnesses' statements vary already and their stories aren't matching up.

The early March evening wind is cold.

Elliot misses the name of the restaurant on the receipt in the victim's purse, but he catches the way Olivia shivers beside him. Her light shawl isn't helping to keep her warm. He immediately shrugs off his suit jacket, the one with his smallest daughter's drool on the lapel, and he drapes it over her slight shoulders.

The look that she gives him is simultaneously grateful and too amazed for his liking. He is her partner. He will _always_ take care of her.

Three hours later, Olivia is curled up in the front seat of the sedan, talking on the phone to the medical examiner as he drives her home.

It's late, ten to twelve and he is exhausted.

He listens to Olivia stifle a yawn against the shoulder of his jacket as she holds the phone to her ear with her left hand and writes something down on the pad in her lap with her right. She is close enough that he can hear every word through the phone, so she doesn't have to repeat herself. They'll make their way to the morgue in the morning, when hopefully they'll have identified the girl. Then the worst begins...

Olivia disconnects the call and leans back against the seat, spent. Elliot can feel her sleepy gaze on his face and he chances a glance at her.  
"You okay?" He asks, his voice rasping with tiredness. Olivia nods. "Will you be okay to drive home?"

He swallows hard because he wants to ask her if he has an alternative.

If he _has_ to be okay to drive home or if he has another option. He knows the answer. He knows there is no other option. He knows she would give him her couch in a heartbeat, just as he would if she were in his shoes, but he can't burden her like that.

He has to get home.

He gives her a half-smile as his turn-signal indicates that they have arrived on her street.

"I'll be fine," he tells her and he will be. It's not a lie. He will make it home and fall into bed beside his wife for a few hours before he wakes up bright and early to pick up coffee and then he will meet her right back here.

The look she tosses his way is skeptical, but she doesn't push him and he silently thanks her for it, because in truth he is too tired to argue and he might just give in if she offered. Somehow, Olivia seems to know this and so she doesn't press the issue.

"I think Kathy would have liked the party," she says softly, looking out the window as he maneuvers the car into a spot in front of her building.  
_Fuck the no-parking signs. What are they gonna do? Call the police? _His focus is on parallel parking and he doesn't speak so she continues.  
"I'm sorry she couldn't make it tonight."

He clenches his jaw under the pretense of straightening out the wheels, but the truth is he_ isn't_ sorry and he wonders what kind of husband that makes him. He won't lie to his partner, so he figures his silence is better that deceit.

"Of course, then you wouldn't have been able to show me those dance moves you've been hiding," Olivia jokes, momentarily leaning closer and resting her elbow on the edge of the console.

"I would've danced with you even if Kathy would've been there."

The truth comes out of nowhere. He hadn't meant to say it so roughly, so assuredly, but he desperately wants her to know that she has a place in all of this.  
In his life, in his heart. She isn't some separate entity that he think of _after_ his family. She is _part_ of his family. She is...

Olivia shakes her head in quiet disagreement and errant strands of her dark hair have cascaded from their glittering hold to sweep against her cheek. He wants to reach over and brush the wave behind her ear, the one that is obscuring his view of her face. "No, I would've wanted you to dance with your wife."

She gives him a small smile which he returns, before she reaches for the door handle and steps out onto the sidewalk.  
"Thanks Elliot," she says and she starts to shrug out of the suit jacket that swallows her.

Elliot shakes his head. "Keep it till tomorrow," he tells her. She has to walk forty-five feet to her door and he doesn't want her to get cold.

He watches as Olivia rolls her eyes affectionately at what he knows is his protective predictability. "Okay," she answers almost too easily and gives him the slightest smile. "Night."

She closes the car door and starts to walk away before his eyes catch the black satin sprawled across the passenger seat, reflecting in the streetlight above the car.

"Olivia, you forgot-" He leans across the seat and holds her shawl so she can see through the now open window.

She turns and smiles. "Keep it till tomorrow," she says, tugging lightly at the lapel of his jacket. "It's only fair."

Elliot grins at her through the window as he shakes his head. He is positive that she is his best friend in the whole world.

Olivia waves at the door before she slips inside and he watches her until she disappears.

He gathers the delicate material of her shawl in his hands, letting it slide across his fingers. It smells like her, like coconut shampoo, a touch of her perfume, and a hint of spearmint gum.

He leans back in his seat, holding her shawl across his thigh and he waits. She knows he will sit here all night if he has to.

He has promised her and he wonders what that means. He wonders why it's easier to sit outside his partner's apartment in the dead of night and wait for the flicker of her lights than it is to go home. He wonders why some promises are easier to keep than others.

He looks at the clock. Eleven fifty-eight. They've kept this particular promise. Home by midnight. The spell isn't broken.

A moment more and there they go. The familiar wink of her lights. He has waited because that is what partners do, after all.


End file.
